


(blue is) the color of my soul

by badritual



Series: Author's Favorites [21]
Category: Jurassic World Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Not Beta Read, Platonic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:54:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22689568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badritual/pseuds/badritual
Summary: Owen meets Blue and then heknows.
Relationships: Blue & Owen Grady
Series: Author's Favorites [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/665036
Comments: 8
Kudos: 104





	(blue is) the color of my soul

**Author's Note:**

> Started writing this after I saw the first _Jurassic World_ movie a couple years ago and only just finished it. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> I’m pretty much flying by the seat of my pants here. I haven’t checked out any supplemental material beyond what I could find on the movie wiki page.

When Owen Grady turns thirteen, a blue streak curls around his left wrist like a ribbon. 

His soulmark. 

No one can explain it. Most people’s soulmarks take the form of their fated lover’s name, or some other identifiable mark that can be used to find them. Owen’s mom had his dad’s dog tag numbers, from his stint in Vietnam, unscroll down the inside of her wrist on her fourteenth birthday. His dad had Mom’s childhood home address, written in her hand, tuck itself between his shoulder blades when he turned sixteen. 

Owen looks down at the blue streak on his wrist and wonders what it all means. 

The other kids tease him, calling him weird. A freak. Abnormal. 

Owen gets a plastic guard from the school nurse and slaps it over his wrist, obscuring the weird mark. It doesn’t do anything to stop the incessant teasing, but at least Owen feels better now that he can’t see the strange blue tendril curling around his wrist.

When Owen is sixteen, he finally takes off the wrist guard and is startled to find that the blue streak has _changed_.

Marks sometimes shift over the years. Sometimes the destined lover’s handwriting changes and their signature shifts to match. Other times they move out of that childhood home and the address changes to reflect the move. 

The mark on Owen’s wrist is less a curl of blue smoke and—and something else. 

He isn’t sure what it is, but it almost looks like it’s grown an _eye_.

Owen starts wearing the wrist guard again.

Owen doesn’t take the guard off his wrist even once while he’s in the Navy. 

He sleeps in it, he showers in it, he fucks in it, and he kills in it. 

When Owen is discharged—honorably, of course, with medals and trophies pinned to his chest and propped up over his parents’ fireplace in his childhood home—he finally takes the wrist guard off.

The mark, once a ribbon of blue around his wrist, has changed over the years, stretching out, winding up Owen’s forearm now, almost possessively. 

He’s brushing his teeth in the bathroom when he spooks himself. It’s that unblinking yellow eye tattooed onto his arm by the hand of God staring out at him from the bathroom mirror that does it, sends a jolt of cold fear slicing through his belly like claws.

Owen doesn’t wear the wrist guard anymore but he _always_ wears long sleeves. He can’t stand to see that blank eye staring back at him.

It doesn’t start coming together, like puzzle pieces slotting neatly into place, until he gets a phone call. 

Some company wants Owen to train fucking _velociraptors_. 

Owen has heard the stories about John Hammond and Jurassic Park—who hasn’t, really?—and it’s good money, so he jumps at the opportunity. There’s also a condo on exotic island in Costa Rica, fully furnished and rent-free, waiting for him. All he has to do is sign on the dotted line at the bottom of the page.

As Owen inks his name onto the contract, the blue ribbon dancing over his wrist and arm starts to tingle. Owen rubs it idly, puts the pen down, and thrusts out his hand to the man who will now sign his paychecks.

Simon Masrani. 

Masrani clasps Owen’s hand in his, pumps his arm, and then proffers a shiny, freshly-printed airplane ticket.

 _Isla Nubar_.

Owen’s mark tingles some more on his arm but he ignores it as he reaches out and takes the ticket from Masrani’s outstretched hand.

Claire Dearing is one of the first people Owen meets when he arrives on-site, and he almost wishes she was his intended soulmate. But his mark doesn’t tingle like pins and needles under the skin when he reaches out and grasps her hand. He’s kind of disappointed.

Still, though. Not all soulmates are romantic in nature. Some people form platonic bonds, some form workplace bonds, and others even form familial bonds with parents, siblings, and cousins. Perhaps the owner of the blue ribbon on Owen’s arm is one of his new coworkers. 

It’s definitely not Claire—though the lack of a corresponding mark doesn’t stop him from making a date with her—and it’s neither Lowery nor Vivian, unfortunately. It’s not Barry, the other trainer Owen will be working with, either.

No, it’s none of the group of people he suddenly finds himself immersed in during his first full week of work at Isla Nubar. 

Owen meets Blue and then he _knows_.

The soulmark starts burning on his wrist and then Blue lets out a shriek that curdles his blood. But there’s something in her reptilian eyes, something almost _human_. It _almost_ feels like she recognizes him as she tilts her head and then tip-toes closer to him. He can see a pattern on her skin and when he digs up the bravery to move closer to her, he sees it’s a series of tiny numbers. Numbers like those on his own dog tags.

Owen had heard of platonic soulmates, but he’d never heard of anyone being linked to an animal—hell, he’s not even sure genetically-engineered dinosaurs count as animals.

But Blue seems to calm down when he moves closer, pushing her snout against his palm almost docilely. It’s almost like she knows, too.

Owen touches her gently, tracing his fingertips over the numbers that twist around her neck like a chain.

“Attagirl,” he says, drawing his hand back. 

Blue looks up, blinks her yellow eyes at him before bounding away.

Owen gazes down at his hand, fingers tingling like he’d just grabbed a live wire.

This is the start of something special. He can just feel it.


End file.
